Death at St. Asprey’s School (19 page)

“I was not so worried about that. After all, Sturgess Rimmer knew it already. So I told him he could tell whom he liked. He said ‘You'll be sorry for this, Duckmore'.

“Then things began to happen. You know what I mean, jumbo? Appearances and noises. The killing of Mayring's dog. The rabbits. The rat in Matron's bed. And after every one of these Sime affected to suspect me. I would protest and he would say—‘Well, who else could it be? With your history. You'd never convince anyone it wasn't you. And that would put a stop to your ‘test' period, wouldn't it?'

“At last I gave him money—a thousand pounds. I thought, like everyone else who has been blackmailed, that I would get some peace for that. Then, immediately afterwards, there was that face at the dormitory window and he started all over again. There seemed to be nothing I could do.”

“Have another drink?” said Parker, and Duckmore nodded distractedly. He was in a state of high nervous tension.

“You see,” he went on. “I began to wonder whether I was doing these things. As Sime said, who else would? I never really suspected him. Not because he wasn't bad enough but I couldn't somehow see him wandering about at night doing these senseless things. Once or twice I listened at his door and heard him snoring. I got into a dreadful condition of nerves. At last…” Duckmore hesitated and when he spoke again it was almost in a whisper. “At last I decided to kill him.”

“When did you make that decision?” asked Carolus.

“I don't quite know. I think I'd had it in my head for a long time. But I couldn't see how to do it. It must have
been just before you came here that I finally made up my mind.

“It was the archery that suggested the way to do it. You see when I was at the university I had been very keen on it. At that time I was a really good shot. I won a couple of championships. When Kneller started it here I said nothing about that. I was out of practice and in any case too jumpy to be much good at first. But I knew that if I
had
to make one really accurate shot I could do it. And without telling anyone I practised.”

“How do you mean? There was no time when you could go out there alone.”

“No. But I practised when the rest were there without letting them know what I was doing. I would take a spot on the edge of the target and shoot at it. When I hit it, it looked like a rotten shot. Then I'd take one on the other side of the target. Then I'd send one off the target altogether. No one dreamed I was getting more and more accurate until I knew I could be sure of myself at any range between forty and eighty yards.”

“On the range,” Carolus pointed out.

“Well, yes.”

“With an ordinary arrow. Not a broadhead.”

“That's so.”

“Was this before Sime was laid up?” Carolus asked.

“I started before then. I had a vague idea much earlier. But when he was laid up and sat up in bed watching us I knew just how to do it. I meant to shoot him through the heart.

There was a long silence in the room and Carolus did nothing to break it. He was watching Duckmore with undisguised interest.

“I went about it carefully,” Duckmore went on at last. “I discovered that when the five of us stood in a row to
shoot at our five targets, two of us were invisible from the house. We all knew that Matron observed everything she could and she could see three of the archers. So T waited for the ideal conditions. These were, one, that there should be
no more than five people on the archery lawn,
all archers; two, that Sime's curtains should be drawn back, leaving him exposed to those on the archery lawn though behind us as we shot for the target; and three, that I could fire from one of the two points at which I was invisible from the house. These conditions never came together till the afternoon of Sime's death.

“As you know, we shoot six arrows each at the target and when all five of us have shot we walk down together and recover them. This is exciting—you go forward to count your score. You will find that people who have just shot and are walking towards their targets seldom take their eyes from these.

“For several days I was prepared. That is to say I took one of the concealed points and had seven arrows instead of six. But there was always someone standing about watching. However, that afternoon there were just the five of us. People had been about—even Sconer came out that afternoon—but just before four o'clock, before Mayring came down from the cricket field, conditions were ideal. I fired my six arrows, then pretended to be tying my shoelace while the others walked forward towards the target. I took my seventh arrow…”

“A broadhead?” asked Carolus.

“No. No. The arrow we use on the range. I couldn't have been accurate with a broadhead. Its altogether different. I turned round to face the house, and shot. I was aiming at the heart but I have a tendency to shoot high. My arrow pierced Sime's throat. He must have died immediately.”

“Suppose you had missed?” said Carolus.

“Suppose I had.”

“You would have been seen.”

“No. As I explained…”

Carolus interrupted harshly.

“Not by Matron.
But by Sime himself.
Didn't you think of that?”

“He was probably asleep,” said Duckmore. “He used to sleep in the afternoon.”

“But how did you know that? Had you done anything to ensure that he would be asleep?”

Duckmore looked rather baffled.

“No,” he said. “I was quite sure of myself. And as you know, I didn't miss.” He went on hurriedly. “I didn't wait to see then, of course. I hurried after the others and caught them up about halfway down the range. We were all chattering about our scores.”

“Who were the five?” asked Carolus.

“Mollie Westerly, Stanley, Bill and Stella Ferris and myself.”

“Where was Kneller?”

“He'd gone to his cottage for a few minutes. He was worried about his wife. When we came back to the shooting line Mayring was there, just down from the cricket field. He wanted to shoot so I told him to take my place, and they started again.

“I walked away quite casually. As I crossed to the house I saw Kneller coming back from his cottage. Then I went into the staff block. I looked into the common-room but no one was there. Then I tapped on Sime's door.”

“Why did you do that?”

Again Duckmore looked confused.

“I don't quite know,” he said. “Habit perhaps.”

“Did you know you had hit him?”

“Oh yes.”

“You could see from where you shot?”

“Yes, I..

“You were quite sure?”

“Yes, but of course I couldn't be certain that he was dead. Anyway, I tapped and naturally there was no answer. I slowly pushed the door open. Then I was nearly sick. Well,
you
saw him. He was dead and there was a great deal of blood. I did not go near him but quickly closed the door and went to my own room. Then I
was
sick.”

Parker nodded sympathetically.

“It was a beastly sight,” he said.

“I realized that I must pull myself together,” went on Duckmore. “I was supposed to be on duty in the dining-room for the boys' tea. I had a wash and hurried along but the boys had been in for several minutes and Matron was there. She said something about my being late but I didn't take much notice. I was thinking of what I had seen in Sime's room.

“Then suddenly, after the boys came out of the dining-room, something in me seemed to snap altogether and I knew I had to get away. I did not think where or how—just to get out of the school. I took nothing with me—I really didn't know quite what I was doing. I kept seeing Sime. I had no plan. I remember rushing down the drive and out into the road. Then I met you, Deene.”

“Yet almost the first words you said to me were that you had
not
killed Sime,” said Carolus.

“Were they? I don't remember. I was in a terrible state. I wasn't going to admit it. I expect I said it was an accident. I'd always hoped it would be taken for an accident.”

“You did.”

“I didn't know what I was saying. But I've told you the truth now.”

“Why?” asked Carolus.

“I wanted to get it off my chest. 1 couldn't go on like this. If you had seen him!”

“Why did you tell us? Instead of the police?”

“Oh, I'm going to tell the police.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight? It's not eleven o'clock yet.”

“No. No. I want time to think. You see, Sturgess Rimmer is coming tomorrow. I want to tell him first and ask him what I should do.”

“What can you do, but tell the truth?”

“I know. I know. But I want to talk it over with him. He's a very understanding man.”

“So you propose to go through tomorrow, taking your classes and behaving as usual before confessing to murder?”

“It sounds awful when you put it like that, but I've gone so far. This has been on my mind ever since it happened. One more day…”

“It's not for me to say anything about it,” said Carolus. “But a confession of murder is surely not something to put off, is it?”

“I
will
go tomorrow,” said Duckmore, “as soon as the Bishop has gone.”

“I think you should go tonight. Or early tomorrow morning.”

Duckmore stared at him.

“Is anyone else suspected?” he asked in a horrified voice.

“By the police? I have no means of knowing.”

“How can they be? No one else could have done it.”

“You mean, no one else is as good a shot as you?”

“No. Not for a shot like that.”

Carolus spoke very slowly and carefully.

“Look, Duckmore,” he said. “I want to take you back to that afternoon for a moment.”

“Please don't.”

“It's rather necessary you know. For other people's sake. You remember turning round to shoot that seventh arrow?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“What did you see when you turned? Through Sime's window, I mean. You were some forty yards away.”

“Forty-five. I had reckoned it exactly. To get my range. I saw
him”

“You saw Sime? Distinctly? Try to remember.”

“I saw the outline. It was all I needed.”

“The outline of what?”

“The bed. Sime.”

“Could you see his face?”

“Yes. Well … I could see where it was.”

“If it had been someone else sitting up in that bed—
would you have known?”

“
But I knew it was him.”

“Exactly. You shot at an outline. Could you see where your arrow struck?”

“I knew I had hit him.”

“Did you? Then? You knew afterwards, of course, because you went into his room. But at the time?”

“I thought I had.”

“That's better.”

“But I had. We all know that.”

“You go to the police tomorrow, Duckmore. Whatever anyone tells you.
Go to the police”

A very obstinate look came into Duckmore's face.

“Not till the afternoon,” he said, “when I've seen Sturgess Rimmer.”

“I can't say any more then. But I warn you, you're
delaying something you ought not to delay, and it may have serious consequences.”

Carolus stood up.

“I'm going to bed,” he said and nodding to the two men, left them together.

Though St. Asprey's School had passed through many strange events that term, the next twenty-four hours, the hours before the Inquest, were certainly the most curious period of time in its history, a history, no one could help feeing, which was rapidly coming to a close.

The boys seemed to remain totally unaware that a climax impended and one would have said they had already forgotten Sime. At breakfast they bombarded Carolus with questions and during the morning classes of a sort continued. Mrs. Sconer was absent from breakfast and this seemed to put Matron on her mettle. From her table she could observe most people in the room and like those of the Last Duchess, her looks went everywhere.

It was during the Break that Carolus received a summons. A small breathless boy came to him and said—“Please sir, Mrs. Sconer wants to speak to you.”

“Thank you for bringing the message,” said Carolus, who was glancing at
The Times
crossword.

“Please sir, she said at once,” said the small boy. “She said in the rose garden,” he added.

Tribal junketers, 5 letters. Too easy. Kurds. Statue of A.E.W. 5 hyphen 5. What was the matter with the setter today? He was giving it away. Stone Mason, of course.

“Please sir, are you going?” asked the small boy, awed by Carolus's bravado.

From childhood Carolus could hear echoes of the laws of courtesy—never keep a lady waiting.

“Yes,” he said smiling to the small messenger. “I'm going now.”

He found Mrs. Sconer deftly applying a pair of secateurs to errant growths.

“Good morning, Mr. Deene,” she said graciously. “I wanted to see you. The Inquest is tomorrow.”

“Yes,” said Carolus.

“Everything depends on the verdict.”

“You mean, the school,” said Carolus rather crossly.

“Everything,” repeated Mrs. Sconer in the voice of Lady Macbeth. “What will that Verdict be?”

“Murder, of course,” said Carolus. “I've told you all along.”

“You are not disposed to modify your opinion?”

“No.”

“In spite of your stay among us? I thought that as you became acquainted with our small happy community, you would see how impossible it was that anyone here should wish ill to another. At least,” added Mrs. Sconer more realistically if less explicitly, “at least not to
that
extent.”

“You take a rather rosy view, don't you? It seems to me that anyone might have murdered Sime from sheer distaste. And almost everyone had other motives.”